Take a long story short.
Living is making me die.
Thighs traced across with Barbie pink and wedding dress white scars
Easter grass in perfect plastic, tossed across my skin.
Wrists covered to the elbows with
Silver scars,
The drawings of a slightly older
Slightly harder toddler.
A trail of red running down my arm, my leg
A bath tinged scarlet by my sorrow
A sweater sleeve pulled around my knuckles.
These slightly less happy themes have replaced my past:
A scab on knee, my elbow
A bath filled with bubbles scented with innocence and honeysuckle
A pink plaid quilt pulled under my chin.
Why did I grow up?
Who did I grow up to be?
Maybe I’m a tiger, because
I certainly have the stripes and
I’m certainly not a normal girl.